


La Vie devant Soi

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-27
Updated: 2003-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like a moan in the middle of the night. Written for the SVFF challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Vie devant Soi

## La Vie devant Soi

by Melo

<http://melo_l.livejournal.com>

* * *

Author's notes: Written for Celli, who asked for a Prodigal missing scene. Thanks to Meret and Sarah for betaing this story and making it better. I borrowed the title from Romain Gary. 

Feedback: is icing on the cake. 

* * *

There are 512 nails on the ceiling, 1024 stars that he can see from his window, and 213 squares on his curtains. 

There is Lex Luthor, a wall away. 

Not that his lying here, wide awake, has anything to do with that particular fact. 

It's not Lex per se. It's the way he moves. That creaking noise he can hear through the wall, the soft rustle of sheets as Lex turns around, the small sigh a tell-tale sign that Lex has _again_ failed to find the right position. 

Lex knows a lot about torture and if Clark didn't know better, he'd think Lex was making noise on purpose, just to make sure he wasn't the only one sleeping poorly. Some sort of Chinese torture, Lex-style. 

But it would take Lex knowing about his hearing to do that, and no matter how much Clark doesn't like to think about what Lex knows, he's pretty sure his hearing isn't part of it. 

Yet. 

Nevertheless, the noise is there and Lex keeps moving. Clark can understand that. He's never been able to sleep well in another bed than his. But there's more at stake here and he understands that too, because Lex is all about symbols and he sees very well how this bed could have come to represent everything that got screwed up in Lex's life. In fact, knowing Lex, each lump in the mattress is probably used as a reminder of something he lost. 

Lex has told him many time that adaptation was key to success. 

Clark doesn't think Lex had ever envisioned adapting to not being a Luthor any more. 

Maybe he should go over there. Maybe he should be the friend he'd expect Lex to be to him and listen. Only he's sure Lex wouldn't say a thing, and Clark isn't that good with words that he could fill in the blanks. He's always been more about the physical side of things. Comfort hugs. Hand-holding. 

But something's fluttering at the thought of being in the dark holding Lex. It's been fluttering for quite a while now, and he knows that if he goes there he'll have to admit what these flutters mean. He doesn't want to. Keeping secrets from Lex has been hard enough without adding any feelings to it. 

He stays in bed. 

Lex moves again. 

Maybe it's a reminder. Like a friendly "don't-forget-I'm-here" signal, as if Clark _could_ forget. As if he hadn't been fighting to keep his eyes shut ever since he heard Lex close the door to his room, because he's only that strong and doesn't trust his vision not to switch on its own. 

The noise is different this time though, like Lex just kicked the sheet away and why would he do that when the weather's... oh. 

There's got to be a code of good behavior for extraterrestrial life-forms somewhere that forbids you to listen to your best friend jacking off. But if he sticks his fingers further in his ears he's afraid they'll touch, and putting his head under the pillow doesn't work any better. The rhythm speeds up. Lex is breathing erratically now, and he finds himself listening almost against his will until all movement stops abruptly in a word he's quite sure his delusional mind has provided. 

"Clark." 

The next word is much more likely to be Lex's though, as no amount of teenage rebellion could ever make Clark say fuck out loud under his parents' roof. He hears Lex's door open and opens his eyes to watch his skeleton tiptoe to the bathroom. Seeing things in green and black adds to the surreal aspect of the situation, and he's quite convinced now that the word he heard was a variant of "argh". After all, Luthors were not like everyone. Maybe they came differently too. 

Whatever the word was, the house is quiet now, and Clark allows himself his only glimpse through the wall. Focusing is harder when he's tired. It takes more squinting and his eyesight flips to x-ray vision quite a few times, but finally the wall seems to disappear and suddenly he wishes it hadn't. 

Because Lex is looking right at him and the five seconds it took for Clark to remember that Lex is actually staring at the _wall_ had felt too much like guilt slamming in. He closes his eyes, tries to forget about what seems to be very awake in his boxers and wills himself to sleep. 

And if his breathing matches Lex's, it's only a coincidence. 

* * *

He loves his parents, but sometimes he finds himself wishing that they'd trust him a little. Lots of times. Most times. "I don't want him left alone on this farm, Clark." "Remember what's in the storm cellar, Clark." At least he's been spared the devil in disguise discourse this morning, which is surprising, but he's not one to frown on unexpected blessings. 

He wonders briefly if thinking this could be considered disrespectful, but he feels better for it, and decides to file it under teenage rebellion, safe with flutters and a love for motorbikes that didn't leave with the red meteor rocks. 

The sound of a pitchfork scraping against the barn floor reaches him and Clark hurries toward the barn. 

Lex is pitching a pile of straw into the wheelbarrow, and it's the first time he's seen Lex in something other than a designer shirt. Back at the mansion, even his sweaters have discreet initials on the sleeve or the breast that Clark has learned to recognize, but the only ones to be found on that shirt are CK written in blue pencil on the label. 

Funny how things could change meanings on the road from the castle to the barn. 

Lex is sweating, it shows through the shirt and Clark's mouth feels very dry all of a sudden. 

"Well, I was going to give you some tips, but it looks like you have everything under control." 

He sounds casual. It surprises him, but maybe it's an alien thing to be able to talk when your throat feels like parchment. Lex grunts as he pitches another pile of straw, and really, biceps shouldn't be mesmerizing but they are, and not letting his eyes trace Lex's back down to -- well, lower, is maybe the most difficult thing he's ever done. He should feel proud. But as it is, he just feels weak behind the knees. 

Lex is saying something about a ranch in Montana, and right, he should pay attention, but he has to sit down before his knees give up, and the bale sitting in the corner looks very inviting all of a sudden. 

"Sounds like fun." He hopes Lex hasn't just told him about Lionel setting up new cow torture devices and Lex getting to experience them first-hand. 

Lex pauses, wiping his hand across his face as he turns toward Clark, but he's smiling and the spectre of sounding like a dangerous cow-psycho goes away. 

"We would work right alongside the ranch hands. Everyone did their fair share. It was the only time I felt normal." 

There's a message in the layers of Lex voice, in the way they get thicker on words like fair and normal, and he's sure he'd get it if his attention wasn't solely focused on the way his shirt clings onto Lex. Surely it's wrong to want to be this shirt. He doesn't think he could care less. 

"Did you ever go back?" 

Lex tosses the last forkful of straw into the wheelbarrow and turns around to hang the pitchfork. 

"After my mother died, my father sold the property. I guess you could say he was never a man of the people." 

Lex heads over to the other side of the barn, bending down to pick up a bale of straw. No, Clark doesn't want to stare at Lex's ass but his eyes seem to have their own opinion on the matter, which would be fine if Lex hadn't chosen to turn his head just then. 

The grin stretching Lex's lips screams "busted" louder than words. 

Clark hears himself saying something about helping, but Lex just grins wider and shakes his head. 

"Thanks Clark, but I'd like to prove to your father once and for all that some Luthors pull their own weight." Lex turns around far too slowly for it to be anything else than a show-off. "Well, I think I'm done." 

Clark glances around, anything to get his eyes off Lex, and he knows he looks around long enough for it to be somewhat insulting to Lex's work, but he can't help it. Can't help the millions thoughts colliding in his head, replays of hundreds of conversations when Lex's attitude had been so similar to what it is right now. Can't help wondering when the looks got so hungry, and how he could have been so blind as to miss it altogether. 

The night's events come back in a rush, and he'd like to think he's not having an epiphany because of something he thinks he's heard. But he is; he knows this, and any reluctance to acknowledge the meaning of the flutters is gone, swallowed by a moan that sounded like his name. 

Maybe it was his name. 

Then again, maybe it wasn't. 

"We'll make a farmer out of you yet." 

Lex relaxes imperceptibly and laughs. "Well, it doesn't seem to have done you any harm now, has it?" 

Any doubts as to how to interpret that is swept away by the once-over Lex does, and Clark suddenly finds it hard to swallow. "I'm... I'm not complaining." 

The heat in Lex's eyes would have been enough to burn were he, well, less human than he is, and knowing his skin is impervious to fire is curiously not as comforting as it should. He doesn't even notice he's backing away until his back hits a beam and he grabs it like you'd grab a lifeline, his fingers digging in the wood in what he hopes won't leave obvious impressions. 

Lex is walking toward him, prowling almost, and it's all Clark can do not to whimper. He doesn't want to whimper. He's not even sure he wants to be here, except that he is, that it's maybe what he's always been waiting for. 

"Clark..." A slur on the vowel, his name rolling on Lex's tongue in a whisper that gives all the answers, for his name sounds like a moan, like a secret shared in a foreign room that he wasn't meant to hear, but did anyway. 

Lex is so close they almost touch, but he knows the last step is his to make and he leans in, lips brushing tentatively, getting bolder and harsher as Lex takes control of the kiss. Hands in his hair, pulling him closer, and this is so different from anything he's ever imagined, messier, sloppier, so much better too, Lex's body against his own, all angles and hard and unforgiving, repeating his name in between kisses like maybe he wants to make sure it's real. 

It takes the sound of the pitchfork falling noisily on the floor to break them up. Lex jumps backward with a wild look on his face and Clark can't help laughing. 

"That's just the pitchfork." 

"It sounded like a gunshot." Clark laughs louder and Lex looks almost vexed. "It did. And be it as it may, I don't want to find myself face to face with your father's shotgun if I can avoid it." 

Oh, shit. He's suddenly very aware of how open the barn is. How easily he can see the porch from the exact spot where he was busy exchanging body fluids with Lex five seconds ago. Of the tools in there his father might have needed any time. 

But a quick survey of the surroundings places his mother at her ironing board and his father away in the fields, and he closes the space between him and Lex, his hands running slowly up and down Lex's arms. 

"My mother's ironing..." He's mouthing the words against Lex's ear, and he smiles as he feels the shudder that runs through Lex. "My dad's in the field..." and he nips at Lex's ear lobe, savoring the gasp as Lex throws his head back to give him better access to his neck. 

A series of tiny kisses to Lex's jaw that leaves Clark dangerously close to his mouth, and Lex parts his lips in anticipation. "There's no one here but us, Lex..." 

Any potential protestation is swallowed as Clark sucks Lex's lower lip in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, and suddenly Lex gives up and falls into the kiss, their tongues meeting aggressively, and it's Clark's turn to gasp as he feels a hand sneaking in between them and twisting a nipple while another hand reaches around and ghosts over the inch of skin between his shirt and his jeans. 

Lex kisses like he does everything else, throwing himself into it to the point of drowning, giving so much of himself away for the taking and Clark does just that, takes and takes and tries to give back just as much. He's not sure he can, though. He feels helpless, his hands like lead and he can't move, but whatever he's giving seems enough for Lex, as he breaks the kiss and smiles at Clark. 

"So you're feeling bold, is that it?" Clark can only nod as Lex's smile grows secretive and his hands toy with Clark's shirt, teasing the patch of skin just over his navel, trailing the hair that had never looked so much like an invitation as it does now. 

He closes his eyes as Lex works the buttons of his jeans open and tugs at his shirt, moaning as Lex's lips close over a nipple and nip at it, soothing the bite with tongue, hands drawing patterns on his stomach that go lower with each second. 

He's standing against the beam again, and it's a very good thing suddenly, as Lex drops on his knees and submits his navel to the same treatment as his nipples, and this tongue going in and out feels more intimate than anything he's ever felt or done. 

He doesn't know how long it lasts, all thoughts killed and gone, melted under Lex's tongue but everything speeds up again as Lex stops, breathing, and every puff of air sends a shiver down his spine. 

"Look at me, Clark." 

The breathing continues and Clark can feel the heat building up slowly, a mix of anticipation and fear, like he's about to take the biggest step he's ever taken, bigger than the bridge, the wood chipper and the storm cellar, bigger than... 

"Clark?" 

Clark opens his eyes just as he feels Lex posing a slight kiss on the underside of his cock. The sight alone is almost enough to make him come on the spot and Lex chuckles slightly as his tongue trails over the vein and teases the ridge, far too soft to be anything near enough. 

"Lex, please..." 

Lex looks up at him, and Clark can only imagine how he looks, shirt tugged up, hair dishevelled and he can feel the blush spreading as Lex's lips stretch in a predatory smile. A hand scratches lightly at the small of his back and he cries out, all concerns of safety and hiding forgotten as Lex slowly takes the head of his cock into his mouth. 

The shivers get worse, and he knows he won't last and it just feels so good and hot and tight and suddenly Lex does this thing with his tongue and it's all Clark can do not to fall on the floor as his knees threaten to give out. 

Lex seems to sense he's close and speeds up, swallowing deeper and deeper and the only warning Clark has before falling is the noise of the beam cracking as he comes in Lex's mouth, barely stifling a shout, and it feels so good, so right, and it's Lex, and... 

He's on the floor. 

How did he get on the floor? 

He raises his head slowly to find Lex looking at him smugly. 

"It's nice to see I haven't lost my technique." 

Clark extends an arm, and Lex comes willingly, using Clark's shoulder as a pillow. He doesn't think he's ever felt that good. Or safe. Or right. 

"Clark?" 

"Mmm?" 

"You do realize we're lying on the floor, right?" 

"Uh, huh." 

"That we're lying on the _barn_ floor? The barn which, I'm sorry to point out, has no door?" 

There's something he should be worried about in what Lex is saying, but his brain seems to have melted along with his power of speech and his ability to stand up. 

"Huh-uh." 

"Clark... We can't stay on the floor. I already told you how I felt about meeting your father's shotgun." 

"I'd protect you." 

Lex snorts. "Of course. How -- silly of me to have forgotten you could stop bullets." 

And this should scare him, and his brain's yelling somewhere, but he doesn't care. 

"I'm useful that way." He lets his hand trail down Lex's back down to his ass, grinning as Lex arches into the touch. "But I bet I can be useful many other ways, too." 

"Clark? Lex? Are you done in there? Breakfast's ready!" 

Lex groans as Clark lets go with a sigh, but the look they share is full of promise of next times of other chances and more time. They both stand up, laughing softly as Clark buttons up his pants and Lex picks out hay from his hair. 

"So... what chores have you planned after breakfast?" 

"Your dad told me something about mending a fence in the north field." 

"I'll help you with that." 

"You're useful that way too? How... appropriate." But Lex is smiling and Clark laughs. 

"Told you I was." 

Lex pauses and looks at Clark straight in the eye. "Then I'm looking forward to discovering all your other talents." 

It sounds like a challenge. It sounds like a pledge. 

It sounds like a moan in the middle of the night, like a car crashing against a bridge, like two destinies finally set up right. 

It sounds like the beginning of his life. 


End file.
